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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900680">Last Resorts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkFlygon/pseuds/TheDarkFlygon'>TheDarkFlygon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Glass Cannon Blues [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Black 2 &amp; White 2 | Pokemon Black 2 &amp; White 2 Versions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Appendicitis, Bad Decisions, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Personal Canon, Sickfic, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:00:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,329</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900680</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkFlygon/pseuds/TheDarkFlygon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The length some people are willing to go for the sake of something so detrimental to their own self can be impressive for some and terrifying for the others, whether it be for selfish or altruistic reasons.<br/>And, sometimes, you're just a sixteen-year-old teacher whose career relies on an inspection with a monster of a man. Inspection which happens on the day your own body turns against you.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bel | Bianca/Cheren, Cheren &amp; Original Character(s), Cheren &amp; Sirnight | Gardevoir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Glass Cannon Blues [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Justifying the Means</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Count how many times I said "pain" in this first chapter alone.</p><p>I swear this fic is gonna be different from Carry On, and not just because Maggie is here. Ooooh boi. Oooooh no.<br/>The idea, for newcomers, is gonna be weird, but hey, I love weird ideas and so does my brain. I'd rather think cringe culture is dead than stealing happiness from myself.<br/>For my fellow emetophobes, warning ahead: there are several references to nausea and dry-heaving, but never detailed or long-lasting. It should be fine for your fanfiction consumption, since it was fine for me to write down ezpz.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Well, going to bed really didn’t fix anything, did it?</p><p>When he went to bed yesterday, he had a major stomach-ache, some chills and a strong nausea that wouldn’t go away no matter what he did. Of course, he just had not to make much of it and conclude that it can’t have been anything but his pre-inspection anxiety. After all, why wouldn’t have he been stressed and shown signs of it? Angela clearly didn’t make it any subtle that, to her eyes, he looked like a wrecked ship trying to find its way back to the sea.</p><p>It turns out that his pains are somehow worse than they were yesterday. The stomach-ache turned into the feeling of being set into fire, albeit it moved places: rather than being a confusing mess of a placement between his stomach and that one other organ which shall not be named, it’s now localized entirely on the bottom half of his abdomen, to the right. He’s got a feeling he knows what’s going on there, but honestly, it could very well also just be a bad, bad case of food poisoning. (He hopes it is). That’s not to mention the first thing he did upon waking up was to immediately dry heave.</p><p> </p><p>He can only admit Angela must have been right about his appearance, yesterday, because holy gods does he look like he met with Giratina during the night. His skin is almost as white as his pristine shirt, his hair is sticking to his face, some parts of his face are red as the ink he uses to correct assignments, his breathing is laboured and his hands are trembling. Yeah, he isn’t going to even try putting on his contacts today.</p><p>Magdalene, who is hovering near him as she does when she’s worried, isn’t more convinced about his condition than he is. If this was any usual day, he’d have given into her concerns (and his), but alas, today just couldn’t be an ordinary work day: it had to be one of the stepping stones of his career and he won’t escape from it unless he just ends up dying on the way to the school. (That option isn’t tempting, but not dolling up isn’t possible either).</p><p> </p><p>He takes such a long time to prep himself that he doesn’t have any of it left to eat breakfast. Usually, he’d have minded and prepared something really quickly to eat on the way to work or in his classroom before the first students of his class would have arrived; but it’s almost convenient that he just so happens to be running late today, since he has no appetite whatsoever. Worse: he just doesn’t feel <em>any</em> hunger whatsoever despite not having eaten since yesterday’s lunch (and that sure went well, in the end…).</p><p>This is going to be a terrible day, and yet, he resigns himself to the nightmare awaiting him. All he does is sigh, take a couple painkillers, dry heave once more and leave the house, his binder against his chest and a hand pressing against his flank.</p><p> </p><p>Getting to the school has never been the hardest step, even when thrown into unusual circumstances. However, that doesn’t mean it’s a fun time, and it mostly implies that the rest of the day is somehow going to be much, much worse. Which, of course, it’s meant to be: the road to class isn’t an actual part of class, you know? In any case, walking there by himself was a pain he’d very much like never to live again, especially since Magdalene’s hovering has been more frantic all this time. He can just sense this thing in her aura that tells him she isn’t serene at all. (To be fair, if there’s someone even less at ease than she is, it’s got to be him).</p><p>He’s pretty sure merely seeing him must horrify even the people who are sceptic of the existence of human ghosts, which’d explain why the corridors are empty. He’s got no time to stop in the lounge nor reason to, so the next stop is another staple of any terrible day: the nurse’s office or, in other words, Angela’s lair. And Arceus knows he doesn’t want to come across her when he needs to pull through any sort of condition under any circumstances, even if his objectives are important.</p><p> </p><p>Angela, as usual, doesn’t miss a beat. As soon as he steps inside the infirmary, she immediately stares at him, incredulous.</p><p>“Please tell me you’re just here to get examined,” she tells him in that hesitant tone he hasn’t heard in a while, the one who pretends not to know what’s going to happen.</p><p>“I wish…”</p><p>He expects her to get angry, as she often does, but all Angela reacts with is empathy, her gaze softening.</p><p>“Okay, just sit on the examination table, would you? I’ll see what I can do to put you back into some shape.”</p><p> </p><p>He takes a little too long to his taste to walk there and sit up on the table, the pain almost crippling him entirely at times. Magdalene follows with him, probably about to prop him up there herself would he fail to do so. Angela then turns around from her usual workshop, facing him.</p><p>“So, where does it hurts? Aside from your abdomen, I mean. You and I both know what’s going there.”</p><p>“You’re certain it can’t be food poisoning?”</p><p>“Well, lemme ask you a couple questions then. Do you still need to vomit every five minutes?”</p><p>He nods. This sounds overly specific, but he did already ask her for anti-vomitives yesterday. It’s not a surprise that she’d ask about it.</p><p>“When was the last time you ate anything?”</p><p>“I’d say… yesterday noon.”</p><p>“So you’re telling me you’re suffering from crippling abdominal pain, constant vomiting and, as I can see, a fever, and you <em>still</em> think it could be food poisoning?” Ah, touché… “Cheren, seriously, I know this is important to you and all, but your inspection can probably wait until you get that appendix of yours taken out.”</p><p>“…Vincent’s told you already, right…?”</p><p>He doesn’t quite know what to make of Angela’s sudden softness towards him. It’s in this sort of situations that he kind of misses her usual harsh personality, even if he’s grateful not to have to pretend like he’s in any mood to argue back.</p><p>“Yes, yes he did. I know your inspector is some sort of strict monster who’s sent Vince down a spiral of self-deprecation before, but he can’t be <em>that</em> bad, right?”</p><p>He doesn’t reply. Mostly because his silence is more than enough to convey his answer to that question, and also because he feels like he’s going to get sick again if he speaks more than necessary: dry saliva is already pooling inside his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Surely, she must have noticed, because she spins around with a whole tray of medicine and syringes in her hands. Magdalene hands him a bucket she’s found lying somewhere in the room. As Angela fills one of the syringes and asks for his arm, he can’t help but get curious, asking in a hushed voice.</p><p>“What’s in that…?”</p><p>“Penicillin. It should stop the inflammation from getting worse for at least a little bit, just so you can finish that inspection. Please promise me you’ll check into the hospital as soon as that’s over.”</p><p>He’s used to injections, so he barely winces when the needle gets into his skin. To his surprise, however, she prepares a second shot.</p><p>“And that one is…?”</p><p>“Morphine. Just a tiny bit of it. You ain’t gonna pass that inspection if you’re folded in half like you were when coming here.”</p><p>“Ah… Thanks.”</p><p>She pours the entirety of the liquid into his other arm, then replies with a quick “you’re welcome”.</p><p>“And now, the last thing I can offer you…” She spins around to unveil a couple of pills and a glass of water. “You can’t puke all over yourself and pass that inspection either, so here’s the classic.”</p><p> </p><p>The thanks he gives her again after engulfing the water aren’t enough, he knows it, but she nonetheless doesn’t mind, instead opting to take his temperature before letting him go. The coldness of her hand in his forehead isn’t a reassuring sign to say the least. The little amount of time it takes for the thermometer to be finished with its measurements is even less comforting, if that’s possible in the first place.</p><p>“That’s what I thought,” Angela comments as she frowns over the thermometer in her hand. “Thirty-nine degrees ain’t exactly what you’d call ‘peak human body temperature’, even less ‘prime teaching conditions’. Your inspector seriously needs to reconsider his priorities.”</p><p>Her eyes lift up again, revealing the sympathy in her eyes hasn’t left, only gone stronger throughout the examination.</p><p>“…best of lucks, Cheren. You’re really going to need it on that one.”</p><p> </p><p>Angela then turns towards Magdalene, who is still silently waiting for him.</p><p>“If anything goes wrong, get me, ’kay?”</p><p>She nods right while he finally puts his sleeves back and tries giving her his best smile of gratitude.</p><p>“Thank you for everything, Angela,” is all he can say as he leaves the room.</p><p> </p><p>When he gets to the classroom, all of the class is already waiting for him. Some of them look anxious, so he quickly waves them a “good morning” and unlock the door. He’s got around ten minutes to finish his preparations, so he quickly writes down the essentials of the lesson onto the board following what he’s been preparing for a week: the structure of the class. His inspection is the perfect occasion to make a case study.</p><p>The medicine Angela gave him quickly takes effect, to his relief, as most of his pain subdues, leaving him with only the chills of fever to fight against. You know, if his condition stays remotely stable for an hour or so, he may just be able to get through the hurdle and do as Angela told him to! (That sounds too good to possibly come true).</p><p> </p><p>His worst fear shows up sooner than expected: the inspector knocks on his door without a word, gracing him with a judgemental glare and an unamused wrinkled face. The man himself is actually short, which makes it uncomfortable to tower over a figure of authority, especially one with such the reputation that precedes Inspector Owen. They shake hands anyway by tradition while he tries keeping the few tremors he still keeps secret from everyone but Magdalene, allowing him to finally take the stage.</p><p>Class starts with the simplest part: a summary of what they’re going to do today. The inspection will last for an hour, during which they’ll discuss about capture (including a study case), then they’ll have a half-hour break so the inspector can give him feedback. After the break, they’ll link the hour-long lesson back to the main one (which is about teambuilding) through a quick bridge and, in the afternoon, they’ll have their usual practice sessions. He’s even asked Juniper to have Serperior and Unfeasant ready for transfer just for the occasion. Everything has been carefully put together, so why does he feel like it’s about to backfire right into his face?</p><p> </p><p>Angela’s drugs do kick in pretty quickly, so class goes smoothly for a little while. He streams together his explanations, laces them with examples, and makes sure there are no questions left unanswered. If they are, he takes the time to explain with new words or to clear up confusions with other examples or simpler phrasing. He smiles whenever a student earnestly tells him they’ve understood what he meant earlier. Now <em>this</em> is what class should be!</p><p>…Unfortunately, bliss doesn’t last forever, it never did. A light stabbing sensation comes back to haunt him, albeit far less intense than it was, and he immediately knows it’s a hint to him to make sure his lesson doesn’t waste too much of his resources. He still has half an hour to go and he’s only gone over the simpler steps (the three components of capture and how they combine): now is the time where he needs to be as clear as possible and, most importantly, to be the most aware of his students’ thoughts.</p><p>
  <em>Tough luck.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He knows he’s obviously clutching his side in an attempt to keep the pain under control (it doesn’t seem to work, considering even medicine doesn’t have much effect on it anymore), which he shouldn’t do because his students are going to question why he’s even doing so in the first place, yet can’t help but do. It’s a sort of placebo effect where, if he lets go of it, the pain may flare up and bring him down to his knees which <em>can’t</em> happen.</p><p>He must have developed some sort of pain resistance, though, because he can still string together a coherent example without most of the class staring at him in utter confusion. He doesn’t really write anything on the wall now that he only has one available hand (and that it pains him whenever he tries to stretch an arm), but it seems to be enough. Good thing.</p><p> </p><p>…But even good things come to an end and, just like bliss, it gives stead to the next thing: trying to convince himself this is fine. Glancing at his watch reveals he still has twenty minutes or so left of inspection class left, and judging by how much the pain in his side is worsening, he can’t look at the incoming future with confidence (quite the opposite). Is the medicine supposed to fade away this quickly, or is his pain just that much stronger than morphine? Well, Angela did tell him she hadn’t inject much of it, but it must have been so he’d be aware enough to teach. She had his best interest in mind, so he can’t blame her for trying her best. His case just must be this bad.</p><p>Ah, crap, he’s getting distracted by his own thoughts! If he doesn’t pull himself together, someone is going to notice something, and that just can’t happen during the most important moment of his career yet. He has a tyrannic inspector to impress, or at least prove himself to: that’s what matters. The increasing pain, the chance he’s been contracting an appendicitis, the risk of it worsening before his eyes; none of that matters. Not now. Not for the next twenty minutes.</p><p> </p><p>He’s trying his best to focus on the class, but nothing will do: his eyes are starting to tear up, blurring his vision, and the pain doesn’t subdue. If it felt like being punched repeatedly earlier this morning, it’s now as if someone was stabbing him with a burning blade every five seconds or so it seems, and surely his perception of time is all jagged up from, you know, <em>being in a terrible amount of suffering</em>. He should’ve stayed home, really, but…</p><p>Oh Arceus. The <em>inspector</em>. His eyes are glaring right into his with the most coldness he’s ever seen from someone. Well, to be somewhat fair, Cheren would most likely be pissed if he had also been faced with someone who can’t keep a class straight for their own sake, but this is getting ridiculous. He’s trying his best, please cut him some slack! It’s not easy to put together a lesson when your brain is trying to warn you something’s wrong! Please… please let him be…</p><p> </p><p>He almost doesn’t realize he’s falling over from how most of his sense are getting overwhelmed by the pain, causing him to fall face flat on the ground (…it should hurt, right? So why doesn’t it hurt? Is there something wrong with his face, now?). Getting up is, like everything else, more difficult than it has any right to be, to the point he actually doesn’t find the strength to get back to his feet; so he remains on his knees, as if begging for it to stop (he is internally, but he can only hope it isn’t showing), helpless.</p><p>A hand clutches his jaw as he feels the nausea come back, in waves, getting stronger with each one passing. The only thing preventing him from bawling his eyes out like a lost child in a maze-like forest is the eyes of his students fixated on him and his sense of professionalism kicking back in, reminding him he isn’t allowed to be this vulnerable, this <em>pathetic</em>, especially <em>today</em> of all days.</p><p>Goddammit, get<em> up</em>! Do something, <em>anything</em>! What’re you doing, staying on the ground like that!</p><p> </p><p>Footsteps come to him as he tries not to gag on his own nausea, prompting to rise his head. From what he can still distinguish, the inspector is there, glaring at him again, except with a ferocious bitterness he can’t decipher as anger, disappointment, contempt, or all of those at once.</p><p>“Do not be such a child,” the man speaks in a slow, heavy-handed tone reminiscent of the awful teacher whose unreal atrocity you only heard rumours about. “You’re an adult responsible for children. Get up.”</p><p>He barely manages to move a leg up in response, only to lose his balance and feel a cold wind go down his back from the open collar of his shirt. He’s this close to choke on his tie.</p><p>“What did I say? <em>Get up</em>. I have seen beginners like you try it, but you will not fool me with this overdramatic imitation of a stomach-ache.”</p><p>While he’d have loved to respond, to tell that guy he can’t be faking it, and he’d rather be faking it than actually going through the Distortion World, all he manages to do is to dry-heave once again, his insides absolutely feeling like they’re being tied and twisted.</p><p> </p><p>The inspector finally lowers to his level after most likely realizing he wasn’t going to get up anytime soon.</p><p>“Don’t you feel bad for all the children you’re putting through this sad spectacle? I can tell they’re looking away because they’re disgusted by this childish behaviour of yours. Do you hear the chatter among them?”</p><p>“…”</p><p>“No? Are you purposefully deaf now? Surely you can hear them. It’s too loud to ignore.” (He’d probably be hearing his students if his hearing wasn’t cottoned out entirely by his inside tremors). “</p><p>“…ah…”</p><p>“Oh, are you going to finally reply to my inquiries? About time you did!”</p><p>“Can’t you see that he isn’t in a state to reply to your questions?!”</p><p> </p><p>He can barely lift his head anymore, but the voice is too loud and too familiar not to recognize: it’s none other than Angela, who runs to him before he can register she’s even here and he isn’t alone in front of this man anymore. Now that’s a relief…</p><p>Her hands land on his shoulders, cold against his skin which is practically fusing with his shirt from how much he’s sweated in it. That’s disgusting to think about, but honestly, there’s very little about him right now that isn’t gross in some way and, while he should probably be more bothered about it than he is right now, he can’t find the energy within himself to be. Not anymore, that is.</p><p> </p><p>“Cheren?”</p><p>He barely registers her voice actually calling out to him, especially with how hushed it is. Not used to it, you could say…</p><p>“A… Angela…?” His voice sounds broken, oddly. “How…”</p><p>“The one and only,” she replies with a… smile…? It’s so subtle and he can barely see anything anymore, it’s hard to tell… “Magda fetched me.</p><p>All he can respond with are the tears he’s been keeping mostly to himself as he finally lets himself cry out loud how terrible he’s feeling, how much he’d rather be anywhere else but here, for someone to please make it <em>stop</em> –</p><p>“It’s fine, I’m here now… You’ll be in good hands. Just… hang in there for a little while longer, okay?”</p><p>He nods. She looks up, her hair brushing against his back and shoulder, making his feverish skin shuddered in its path.</p><p>“Sybil, go fetch my supplies. Magda, get me a bucket, please. As to you…” Complete shift in personality. “Don’t even <em>dare</em> coming near him.”</p><p>Magdalene’s aura, which has only come back to him, intensifies. It’s threatening in a way that doesn’t scare him, although he’s mostly unaware of his surroundings right now. All he can tell with any form of certainty is that he feels nice in her presence, no matter how scary it must be to the people who don’t know her.</p><p> </p><p>The man rants in the background, he can tell, but he’s too busy being in pain to pay much attention to much of his surroundings. It doesn’t help that he’s trying to focus on Angela examining him again as his vision keeps dimming down, his eyes not wanting to remain open anymore. All he can tell is that she’s on the phone and that, judging by the familiar feeling, Magdalene is near him, maybe protecting him with her body and soul.</p><p>This situation has been grotesque from the very beginning anyway.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. How the Mighty Falls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Angela has a couple thousands words to tell to the man responsible for the school's biggest travesty of an inspection yet; and none of these words are going to be soft nor smooth.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Long time no see, hasn't it? It's a recurring theme with GCB, so I'm not surprised a fic I started writing in October is getting updated in very late March. I've been busy with other fandoms, other fics and other venues (such as a couple volunteer-related endeavours). <br/>This chapter is at least fairly long to make up for some of it, even if I'm not sure of how readable it is. I just know I really, really love writing in Angela's POV, she's such a fun character to write.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Magdalene entering her office without knocking is no surprise to her. In fact, she expected the Gardevoir to come sooner than that, though she can’t say she feels reassured by her late arrival. It’s about ten minutes too late to her taste, considering what she’s seen. What terrible crap could have happened a few rooms away from her lair?</p><p>What Angela is certain of is that Magdalene’s strong, unmistakably terrified yet furious aura isn’t a Pidove of goods news.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?” She asks as she silently gestures Sybil to get prepared for an emergency intervention.</p><p><em>This is bad</em>, the voice inside Magdalene’s head tells her. <em>The pain got worse. So much worse.</em></p><p>“Knew it wouldn’t last. You can’t heal late-term appendicitis with some penicillin.”</p><p>
  <em>We need to stop that man.</em>
</p><p>“That inspector?” Angela is already packing up her kit, but she’s curious to know how bad it’s getting. “What’s he doing to the kid?”</p><p>
  <em>I… I can’t begin to describe it… Here…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Magdalene, instead of replying to her with the telepathic words she doesn’t have, flashes into her mind the images she’s seen until now. The kid’s on the ground, on his knees, practically begging to be spared from execution, while a guy with a stinky stare spew at him what must be garbage about disappointing his students if he doesn’t get up. The sound is missing and the visuals get more and more distorted as the memory goes on. Magdalene clearly didn’t want to be there and, honestly, Angela can’t blame her. What is happening a few rooms away from them is nothing more than inexcusable Bouffalant faeces.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going,” Angela snaps as soon as the flashback ends. “Sybil, Magda, with me. We’re putting a stop to this.”</p><p>She almost breaks the door from how much she slams it behind her as she runs to the classroom.</p><p> </p><p>The corridor feels too long to go through despite how quickly she’s running. Every single second counts when the situation is getting this grievous: that’s the second law of medicine and she knows it by heart. She’s more than conscious of how bad this teenager’s condition will get if nobody does anything about it and, knowing Cheren at least enough to predict his work habits, he must feel trapped between a rock and a hard place.</p><p>No, Cheren isn’t a teacher in this situation. He’s merely a teenager who’s being pressured by an authority figure into worsening his own condition for the sake of some messed-up ideology.</p><p> </p><p>When she finally breaks through the other door, Angela gets stunned for a second by the situation she just came into. Or, should she say, the absurd <em>disaster</em> that whole inspection fiasco is.</p><p>The students are all terrified in the back of their seats, staring wide-eyed at the scene. The man himself, the legend shall she say, is kneeling in front of their teacher, who isn’t responding. Now that she can combine video feed and audio background, she can hear the words the man say, the bitter tone in his senseless barking, and the whimpers the teacher he’s supposed to inspect barely chokes down as gagging.</p><p>Poor kid isn’t even allowed to be in pain.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you feel bad for all the children you’re putting through this sad spectacle?” That inspector – Owen, if she isn’t mistaken – tells him. “I can tell they’re looking away because they’re disgusted by this childish behaviour of yours. Do you hear the chatter among them?”</p><p>He’s right: the kids are chatting amongst themselves, but from where she is, she can’t distinguish what they are, can just tell they’re worried and scared about something; but Cheren doesn’t reply, doesn’t admit to anything.</p><p>“No? Are you purposefully deaf now? Surely you can hear them. It’s too loud to ignore.”</p><p>It’s actually not that loud. He’s exaggerating it as to prompt a reaction. That’s a dick move if she’s ever seen one. It’s like forcing a person sick with the flu to sing above their range.</p><p>“…ah…”</p><p>When Cheren opens his mouth, she all but expects him to retch something up, most likely the poor glass of water he’s drunk earlier this morning. Nothing comes of it, however, thank Reshiram for the poor kid.</p><p>“Oh, are you going to finally reply to my inquiries? About time you did!”</p><p>Okay, that’s it, she’s had enough of that terrible excuse of a show. She’s going in, <em>now</em>.</p><p>“Can’t you see that he isn’t in a state to reply to your questions?!”</p><p> </p><p>The guy interrupts his sneering to look at her, in disbelief. She doesn’t give half a damn about his reaction, to be honest: instead, she immediately rushes to her patient, ignoring as many gazes as possible, while her two companions follow. Without any additional order from her, Sybil stays by her side, as she usually does, trying her best to emit a relaxing aura. Magdalene, on the other hand, acts upon her Gardevoir instincts and immediately goes to the other side of her Trainer, getting ready to put herself between the danger and the one she’s sworn to protect.</p><p>She kneels on her workmate’s level, putting a hand on his shoulders. She quickly realizes two things: the kid is desperately searching for any sort of comfort, since he doesn’t pull away from her grip, instead lingering into it like a sick child would with his mother, and that he’s <em>boiling</em>. There’s no wonder why he’d be searching for any source of comfort when he’s doing so unwell, when he’s so out of it. She can only gauge so much from a rapid glance, but there are still a couple things she can gather, mostly that he’s doing <em>terribly</em> and that the situation is getting critical. If she doesn’t act fast, this may take a whole other, much uglier colour.</p><p> </p><p>She calls out to him, hoping to at least gets some sort of attention that isn’t engulfed in pain already.</p><p>“Cheren?”</p><p>“A… Angela…?” His voice sounds utterly broken, trembling and slurring all around. “How…”</p><p>She puts on her best smile of reassurance, soft and trying to hide any tension panging in her nerves. “The one and only. Magda fetched me.”</p><p>He doesn’t reply with words, only hiccups before the floodgates open and he bawls like the sick child he actually is. She doesn’t really understand what he’s saying, since his voice is so raspy and he can barely articulate anything anymore; but she can more or less tell by the tone of his words that he really wants the pain to stop. The issue is that she’s <em>terrible</em> at comforting people – she can already barely comfort herself, let alone a deadly ill teenager who’d usually be too emotionally-suppressed to even tell her about his miseries – and the stress of the situation really isn’t helping. Well… She better put on her best disguise, then, because he sure is going to need her to be his light source in the darkness.</p><p>“It’s fine, I’m here now… You’ll be in good hands. Just… hang in there for a little while longer, okay?”</p><p>He nods, timidly, weakly. The only thing that hasn’t lost its strength in him is his grip, which keeps worsening along with literally everything else.</p><p>“Sybil, go fetch my supplies. Magda, get me a bucket, please.” Hey, she’s got one other person to address… “As to you… Don’t even <em>dare</em> coming near him.”</p><p> </p><p>Before he can reply, Angela interrupts him so she can take from Sybil’s hands her basic diagnostic arsenal. Like she expected, Cheren is opposing her no resistance whatsoever, instead letting himself get handled like a mere ragdoll. This is grossly out of character coming from that teenager who pretends to be more of an adult than an adult would ever think of doing, sure, but teasing him about a sudden bout of what he’d have called childishness would be such a dick move that she’d probably be no better than that Owen douchebag if she did that.</p><p>Examining him isn’t that easy either. Even if he’s at her complete mercy, he can’t stand straight, can’t do much, and, as she expected, his arms won’t leave his abdomen, a hand always pressing on his right side. His eyes are glassy and unfocused when they’re not closed, her words are barely registering, and most of what she does have her ask Sybil to help. Those are terrible examination conditions, but hey, she can’t exactly ask for much more right now. He’s already a handful and she can just hope Magdalene is dealing with some of it despite being essentially mute to anyone who isn’t Cheren or her; even if it’s hard to believe someone as meek as Magdalene would actually dare. The poor thing must be terrified beyond her own mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Take notes,” she tells Sybil, who quickly grabs a pen and paper from the desk.</p><p>
  <em>Consider it done.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The first things she controls, as always, are heartbeats and breathing. As expected from someone in his condition, both pulses are going absolutely haywire, even if his breath is struggling to get past his clenched teeth. While she doesn’t need to actually measure it from how his skin keeps searing whatever parts of it are in contact with her touch, she still knows she should take the kid’s temperature for the paramedics who are going to get him.</p><p>“HP 134. BP 121. TP… 39.9.”</p><p>The scratch of a pen on a piece of paper. Good.</p><p> </p><p>She needs for him to focus on her as much as he can, but it’s going to be hard, judging from how unfocused his eyes are. She tries to judge his reflexes so she can have a clearer indicator of just how conscious he is of his surroundings, but since he constantly jerks away from the tiny hammer before she can do anything, she gives up and, instead, decides to focus on the only thing that matters at the moment.</p><p>“Okay, kid, on a scale of 1 to 10, in how much pain are you?”</p><p>She, at first, doesn’t wait for a response.</p><p>“Sybil, please call an ambulance for me. We need that kid outta here <em>asap</em>.”</p><p>The Reuniclus once again from flees the room as her patient painfully articulates his fingers to show a… five? Yeah, she ain’t going to believe any of this.</p><p>
  <em>Nine, Angela. He’s thinking nine.</em>
</p><p>“Thanks, Magda.”</p><p> </p><p>Never underestimate the power or care of this kid’s guardian Gardevoir (that’s quite literally in her species’ name, sure, but it’s always a little more impressive to see in person than to read about in the books), because Magdalene is once again saving everyone’s asses. Those mind-reading powers of hers come in handy more often than not.</p><p>Sybil is holding the phone to her ear in such a way that she can easily reply to the questions the secretary on the other side of the line has for her. She tries to explain the situation as calmly as possible, ignoring the grunts of pain she keeps hearing right next to her. Bit by bit, she informs them of the symptoms, the statistics, the number on the scale of pain. She’ll get that kid out of here even she needs to kill someone to get there and bring him in a place where he doesn’t have to be a martyr without a cause.</p><p> </p><p>She asks Sybil not to hang up as she once more rouses the kid to consciousness. The heat under her fingers keeps rising, little by little, and she can only guess he’ll only remain some shade of conscious for a couple moments. Poor boy, really, being stuck in a hell like that, powerless against authority and body alike… Talk about a misfortunate meeting of circumstances. Would have it only been his inspection or only been an appendicitis, it’d have been easy to fix; but take both at the same time, put on one side of the ring a stressed-out teenager and on the other an inhumane inspector, and that’s what you get: a catastrophe in the making.</p><p>She’s never seen him in such a state; or, rather, she’s never seen anyone so close to death’s doors before. She’s taken care of her fair share of sick people in this school or outside it and seen in med school how awful situations like this could get; but it’s a whole other thing when it’s right in front of her face and, most of all, on someone’s she knows. There should have never been this much water running down his eyes and not so much fog on his glasses.</p><p> </p><p>Still, now that she’s finished, she can at least make him sit up and – oh Zekrom, he’s about to retch. Good thing Sybil’s had the reflex to bring a bucket here as soon as she thought that could happen (seriously, what would she do without her Reuniclus?), bucket she immediately hands him so he can do his thing while Sybil and she make their best efforts for his students not to see. They don’t need his self-consciousness to kick in now, really.</p><p>(All that exits from his mouth is water. He’s as famished as she thought he’d be. He must have lost his appetite at least twenty-four hours ago and it worries her more than she can express. Not now, though, not when she’s in front of him and not when he <em>needs</em> her, needs a responsible adult to take care of what is now outside his control.)</p><p> </p><p>Time flies very slowly during that sort of the situation but, eventually, the paramedics show up the classroom and Angela has never been this relieved in her life. She quickly rises to her feet, ignoring the static feeling in her legs as she does so, and indicates where the patient is, this sort of thing, and signs off his medical discharge as, yes, he’s still very much a minor, and she really hopes nobody but her heard it when she had to tell it to the secretary.</p><p>There’s someone who seems furious at her and whom Magdalene has kept at bay for a longer time than she’s been trying to keep everything in check – and it looks that, now that Cheren isn’t on the premise of the school anymore, they’re about to clash horns.</p><p>
  <em>Bring it on.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What is this foolish scenario?!” The inspector screams now that Magdalene has let go of a sort of spell – she didn’t know she could do that. Magda most likely seized his throat, to be honest, judging from how strained his voice was for the few words. “Explain yourself!”</p><p>“I could ask you the same thing, you know. You kinda almost caused the death of one of our teachers there, <em>sir</em>.”</p><p>She’s got no patience to politely deal with the mess he just created and neither does he, so that promises to be an <em>interesting</em> showdown.</p><p>“You can’t just say that to me and not explain anything. Who even are you?”</p><p> </p><p>She takes on her strongest stance because, as it turns out, her anger has been boiling in her blood for so long that she’s about to project all of it onto him without a shred of sympathy.</p><p>“My name is Angela. I’m the school’s on-call doctor. I usually take care of the students’ small injuries and to send them home when they’re too sick to be in class, but I suppose I do also take care of the teachers when they need it… such as right now.”</p><p>“Then let me introduce myself, miss. I’m Inspector Owen. My job, as you may know, is to make sure teachers do their job correctly – which, may I add, this one did <em>not</em> – and I believe you may be interrupting the good course of my work.”</p><p>“Well then, sorry sir if I had to interrupt your session of dunking onto an ill <em>child</em>. After all, it’s not like he’s been showing red flags since yesterday and it’s not like you were bullying him quite literally to death, hmm?”</p><p>“An illness shouldn’t keep a teacher from doing his job. Are you here to make excuses for this incompetent, including babying him?”</p><p> </p><p>Oh, yeah, he’s an <em>asshole</em>, the worst one she’s seen in quite a while. And she thought <em>she</em> was a disagreeable person…</p><p>“My good sir, if you think I’m the kind to make excuses for Cheren, you’d be sorely mistaken. However, there is a difference between making excuses and telling you that, as an adult, you shouldn’t be putting minors in danger like that. You’ll be damn lucky if his appendix doesn’t burst on the way to the OR.”</p><p>“Surely you are making fun of me. You cannot sincerely believe this man was going through something such appendicitis. Moreover, I do not believe this ailment to be lethal.”</p><p>“Well, maybe you don’t believe it, but I’m the doctor here, and I suppose having to administer this boy penicillin and morphine just so you could guilt-trip into this bullshit isn’t enough to prove someone to be unfit of teaching for the day.”</p><p>“Did he do this pitiful masquerade to you too? As a health specialist, as you say, you should know better than that. Since you look quite young yourself, I assume you got fooled more easily. Wisdom comes with age, after all, and this is why I need to be more severe on younger people. I know you have been infantilizing this man and this is why people your age need a more critical approach.”</p><p>“Sir, I’ve got a question for you, and it’s real simple: did you even bother checking Cheren’s files in whatever database it is that your kind is using before coming here?”</p><p>“Of course I have, as I always do.”</p><p>“Then, tell me: what age is he? This should have been one of the first things you would have been informed about.”</p><p>“I am certain he is in his early twenties. Twenty-two to be exact.”</p><p>Angela feels a rictus emerging onto her face.</p><p>“That’s what I thought, you know jack shit about him and didn’t bother checking.”</p><p>“And I suppose you know me better than I do because…?”</p><p>“He’s <em>sixteen</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Finally, this asshole is shutting up. About damn time. The only issue is that she’s told his entire class about it, but sometimes, you need to betray an open secret… Sorry, kid.</p><p>“Maybe you don’t know how terrifying your reputation is, especially to someone his age and experience – but you dragged him through unnecessary amounts of mud. Nobody deserves a verbal beating like the one you gave him before I entered the room. Did you not notice in how much pain he was or did you just not give a crap about it?”</p><p>“This is a professional inspection, young lady – there is no place for the sentimentalism you are trying to serve to me. Your workmate made an awful class on the day of his inspection and you bailed him out of it. I have to say, he is a terrible comedian on top of it all.”</p><p>“Oh, I can confirm Cheren is indeed a terrible actor who can’t lie for shit, you can just read on his face how uncomfortable he is with lies. The thing is, he’s an honest person at heart, and he really intended on making a class good enough for an inspection. But, you know what most people can’t fight against? Their own bodies. It’s a miracle this kid got out of bed this morning and managed to drag himself to work on top of it. I hope you’re happy to know he could’ve been fine and recovering instead, but no, you had to force this teenager to put himself through pain like very few people will ever know. Congratulations.”</p><p> </p><p>Owen doesn’t appreciate her tone, she can see that very clearly without Sybil or Magdalene trying to warn her he could harm her next, but she doesn’t care, because really, someone had to tell him he’s a douchebag, and a massive one at that.</p><p>“Do I need to conclude that some stomach-ache is really ending this young man’s life? Forgive me for not believing such—”</p><p><em>Angela, please, do not—</em>Magdalene tries to tell her, but it’s too late, because that question was what broke the camel’s back.</p><p>“When will you <em>shut the fuck up</em>?! Do I need to make you a presentation on how the appendix bursting is a serious danger and that’s why you should treat your appendicitis asap so you don’t, I don’t know, fucking <em>die</em>?! You keep saying a literal teenager wasn’t mature enough when he was sick enough to be admitted into the ER, but really, you’re the childish one here! You put someone in my responsibility in danger like it’s just some silly exercise, and then you dare ask me if he really needed to get to a damn hospital?! How insensitive do you have to be not to realize you’re putting someone through the wrangler?! What gives you the right to judge if someone deserves to be exempt from an examination that could be postponed anyway?! Did it really have to be today?! Couldn’t you just tell this poor kid he could do it again another day when he didn’t feel like throwing up at every moment he opened his damn mouth?! Do you even know how high his fever was getting?! C’mon, if you’re qualified to observe people, you should at least notice it when someone is sweating literal bullets and really shouldn’t be here?!”</p><p>She takes a deep breath, otherwise she’ll be screaming nonsense to expiate all of the anger she’s accumulated, and only then resumes.</p><p>“Earlier, you told him his own students were looking away because he disgusted them. You know why they actually looked away? Because they couldn’t stand seeing him bent in half from pain. You and I both know you don’t know anything about this school nor this teacher, but if you did, then you’d be aware his students love him. They were scared for him while <em>you</em> kept putting words in <em>their</em> mouths. You know what’s the worst about this, sir? It’s that, despite being usually so sceptical, Cheren believed you. He believed you because you’re a figure of authority and you were more aware of your surroundings than he were. I don’t know how you can scream at someone crying his heart out in pain as if he was merely pretending.”</p><p>Silence, because of course he has nothing more to say. Not when even the children around them are staring at him with anger in their eyes, not when she can sense Magdalene’s aura flare up.</p><p>“You should know better than to guilt-trip a sick teenager, if you’re oh so concerned with the future of the next generation.”</p><p> </p><p>On that, she finally ends the class by asking everyone to leave the premise. This farce has lasted long enough as it is.</p>
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